


Apollo

by maven



Series: Modern Mythology [7]
Category: Birds of Prey (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maven/pseuds/maven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's some things even Helena can't manage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apollo

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Alternative Universe as it’s a blend of the Birds of Prey television show and a variety of DC comic books, particularity The Killing Joke and the Batman titles between 1983 and 1991.

Footsteps tended to carry in the main foyer. The sound bouncing from marble floor to limestone walls before echoing around the plaster and mosaic dome. He could imagine it, crowded with school trips or tourist families, the sound a constant din that seemed so at odds with what a museum should be. Quiet and staid, cultured and civilized.

"Richard Grayson," he announced at the members desk. 

The clerk smiled. The slightly glassy smile of a man who'd smiled for the last seven hours and was seriously looking forward to quitting time. "Welcome, Mr. Grayson. Here's your guest pass and guide. I believe there's a note for you on it." 

Dick opened the guide, easily finding the scrawled instructions. "Just like spies," he muttered. 

"Oh, no. The spies use the public lockers in the mezzanine." The clerk winced. "Sorry. Long day. Enjoy your visit and welcome to the Gotham Museum of Art." 

"Thanks," Dick said, orienting himself and the guide. 

+++++ 

He found her in the Arts of Africa and Oceania gallery, engrossed in a four-foot statue and seeming oblivious to the streams of people giving the pieces of art a cursory glance before moving onto the next piece. She ignored them, though, attention firmly on the carved and polished wood. 

He'd wondered what he'd feel when he saw her again. 

He'd gotten a couple of tactful phone calls, one from Alfred and one from Jim Gordon. Long rambling calls, anomalous for both men, which had eventually meandered into the fact that Barbara and Helena were close. 

Really close. Very close. 

Close-close. 

No calls from Barbara about it, which he really hadn't expected. There were things Barbara could talk about easily and freely over telephones and radios. Dick had a mental list of subjects that Barbara could talk about openly and freely. Calling old boyfriends to say you were dating a woman certainly wasn't near the list, let alone on the list. 

So, after receiving the brief email requesting a meeting, he'd wondered what he'd feel when he saw her. When the theoretical become practical. Prepared himself for jealousy and anger, hurt and bewilderment. 

Amusement had not been on his list. But that was what he felt. 

Threading his way through the other visitors he took position a few feet from her left elbow, patiently waiting until she became aware of his presence and to meet his eyes in the reflection of the Plexiglas display case. 

"Helena." 

"Dick." 

"Strange. Most people make it sound like my name." 

"What can I say?" She said, finally turning to face him. "My gift and your stupid nickname." 

"You didn't ask me here to insult me." 

"Well, not just to insult you," she said, turning away from him but not before he'd caught the mischievous smile. "That's a bonus." 

"Why'd you want to see me?" Dick asked after a few minutes. They'd moved to the next exhibit, a statue similar in style to the mother and child but of a seated man carrying a spear. 

"Complicated reasons. How're things in Bludhaven? Still walking a beat?" 

Dick winced. Obviously Barbara had shared that little fact. "Yeah, another month." 

"And what did we learn?" 

"Blow the whistle, walk in uniform for six months." 

"But what did we learn?" 

Dick sighed. "No one likes a whistleblower. Anonymous tip lines are your friend." 

"Exactly." 

"So," Dick asked after a few more exhibits. "Why'd you want to see me?" 

Helena shrugged. "Complicated reasons," she repeated. 

"Like the fact that you're sleeping with Barbara?" Dick asked. It was three steps before he realized that she wasn't beside him. 

She was like a rock in a river, the stream of people smoothly parting around her, reacting to her state although only he could see the half hidden feral glint from behind her bangs. Any amusement he'd felt disappeared. 

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. Sincerely. 

She nodded abruptly, a barely noticeable ripple as the stance relaxed. "It's complicated." 

"C'mon," he said, jerking his head in the direction they'd been walking. "I hear they've got some really old stuff here." 

Silently they walked, moving from gallery to gallery at Helena's lead, both content to let the other make the first move. Exhibits were given cursory examinations before she moved on until, finally, with a small exhalation of breath, she stopped in front of a five inch alabaster cat. The sharp edges and the copper inlays softened by time and wear. 

"Best part about being a circus brat was the new towns. At least in hindsight," Dick said softly. "My folks tried to squeeze in things like museums and galleries and, you know, national archives. And I was always in a rush to get back. To the trailers and my friends. Perfect example of not appreciating something until it's gone." 

Helena nodded but a verbal reply was long in coming and, when it did, Dick noticed that her voice too was low and gravelly, as if under tight control. 

"Well, it's chaos here on the weekends. This gallery attracts kids like sugar. Kids and mummies. All it needs is a few dinosaurs." 

"Your mom use to bring you to the museum?" Dick asked, a hint of bewilderment in his voice, his mind's eye conjuring up a costumed Catwoman leading a small Helena by the hand through the corridors. 

"Don't worry. She wasn't casing the joint," Helena said. "She approved of museums. Said it was good to have a place where ordinary people could enjoy beauty, not just the rich." 

"But..." Dick began before stopping abruptly as he tried to come up with a diplomatic way of pointing out that Selena had specialized in art and jewellery and had stolen several pieces from this very museum. 

"Yeah, yeah. I know. She said most art, most people, where like friends. It's good to have lots of friends, right?" Dick nodded. "Art in a museum, us looking at it. It's like chatting with a friend. Maybe a good friend," she said, gesturing to the cat. "Maybe a friend of a friend you just put up with because it's polite," she added, gesturing to Dick. 

He bumped lightly against her shoulder, smiling to show he saw the taunt but was refusing to follow up on it. 

"For example," she continued, pointing to the next display case and a display of vases, pointing to the leftmost. 

"A vase," he said. He looked closely at the item, a fragmented vase painstakingly reassembled. A white card have the era and style. "Donated anonymously." 

"Yeah, the original owner was, in the words of my mother, a cretin who didn't deserve to have it. So she took it," she said, almost defiantly. Glancing at him to judge his reaction before continuing. "I was, maybe four or five. It sat on the coffee table in Paris for a few weeks before she shipped it here." 

"And he didn't press charges or try to claim it?" 

"When you have a house full of drugs and illegal guns, Dicky, you don't go to the police about someone stealing your stolen artwork." 

"Ah," Dick said, examining the vase again. "Did you break it?" 

She backhanded him lightly across the bicep. "No. It came that way." 

"Most, you said," he asked after a pause. "Most art is like friends," 

"Some art, some people, it's like falling in love. And then, well, all bets are off. No rules or guidelines, morals or ethics." She shrugged her shoulders, turning and her expression moving from pensive to eager. "Hey, you hungry?" 

"Ah," he said, bewildered by the sudden change in topic. 

"C'mon, Trustee Dinning Room. Great view. Decent food," she said, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him to a small elevator tucked into a corner. 

"I thought the Trustee Dinning Room was member's only?" 

"It is. I'm a member. Inherited mom's and then just kept it up." 

"You? A patron of a museum?" 

"I don't know why everyone assumes I'm some kind of thuggish cretin." 

"Because between the ages of 16 and, well, now, that's how you dressed, talked and acted?" 

The presence of first the maitre 'd and then the waitress interrupted any rebuttal. Helena, quickly ordered, not bothering to look at the menu and, Dick noticed, ordering several items not listed. 

"And your brother?" 

Dick looked up sharply from the menu. 

He's not my brother," Helena said, far more calmly than Dick expected. 

"Not exactly" Dick countered. 

"Not anywhere close," Helena scoffed. 

"I'll have the same as Sis," Dick said, grinning at the waitress. 

"Watch it, Bubba," Helena said, trying her best to ignore the grinning waitress and well aware that the teasing conversation wasn't helping her argument in the least. 

"Miss?" Dick asked the waitress. "What would you call the adopted son of your estranged father?" 

"Sort of brother, I guess," she replied after a thoughtful pause. Turning back after a few steps she added, "But dating would be okay. " 

"See?" Dick asked. 

"You realize you're the daughter my father never knew, right?" Helena muttered. 

The meal was, to Dick's surprise, enjoyable. The food superb and Helena's attitude on the pleasant side of teasing. 

"So," Dick asked, when the meal was over and the coffee served. "Why'd you want to see me? And, yeah, I know. It's complicated." 

"I want, well, want isn't right. Need might be closer to the proper word," Helena said, concentrating on the coffee. 

"And you need, what exactly?" taking perverse amusement in Helena's obvious discomfort. 

"You in a room with a Dixie cup," Helena said abruptly, turning her attention to the window. "Maybe a Playboy magazine." 

"You're asking me to..." Dick started and then stopped abruptly. Waiting for clarification or reassurance that she was pulling his leg in some fashion. "You're serious," Dick said when it became apparent after a few moments that there was no punch line. 

"Trust me, if this were a joke I'd have my happy face on. Not my root canal one." 

"Why me? You hate me." 

"But she loves you, idiot. Every time I say something, call you something, make some snarky remark she gets this look on her face. Until I showed up you and Bruce Wayne were her world." 

"Truth hurt?" 

"Ego much," she stood abruptly, tossing several large bills on the table. "Finished?" She asked and, without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and striding to the elevator. 

"Guess I am," he muttered. 

He caught up to her at the elevator, taking the hint and not speaking during the descent, following her silently as she left the museum through a small side door that put them at the outdoor parking lot. Reflexively he glanced around, finding his own ride before noting the familiar black Guzzi parked by the exit. 

"You're staying at the house," she said, staring at his bright yellow Ducati. 

"I should have asked you if it was okay." 

A jet of exhaled breath, exasperation or humour, ruffled her bangs. "No. It's more your home than mine. I mean, fuck it, it's a stupid house. I don't care. Sleep there, burn it down, crash all the cars in the garage," she said, arms gesturing as if throwing something into the air. "It's more yours than mine," she repeated, voice lower, emotion gone. 

"No," he assured her, not fully convinced they were talking just about a house. "She can't, right? I mean, they explained the damage. You were there," he added doubtfully. At the time it had been easy to forget she was there or any more aware of what was going on then Barbara was in her induced coma. That she understood as the doctor explained to Jim Gordon and himself what they had done and what might need to be done. The list of maybes; possible kidney failure, risk of amputation if circulation didn't improve in the lower limbs. The list of gone forever; to walk, to bear children, to even conceive. 

"No, she can't," Helena said tightly and Dick could see in her the slight woman-child, sitting in the corner of the hospital room so still and quite. 

"Just establishing the parameters," he said calmly. Relieved when his backpack beeped at him. "I... uh... should take this." 

She nodded, watching as he balanced his backpack on the Ducati's seat and unzipped the pack. "What the hell is that?" she asked. 

"It monitors emergency frequencies, evaluates the codes and response units. Ties it in with GPS and a city mapping routine..." 

"Small words." 

"Delphi-lite," Dick said. "Hostage taking at the diamond exchange. SWAT about twenty minutes out." 

"But only five minutes from here. This sounds like a job for..." 

"Don't say it. Just don't." 

"Wanna go kick some ass, Nightwing?" 

"It'd be a pleasure, Huntress." 

+++++ 

"In my day..." The rookie groaned quietly. "What?" 

"No offense but these stories are either how easy you had it back in the day. Or how hard you had it back in the day." 

The veteran sighed, adjusting the heavy police belt. The idea of pairing rookies with veterans on a walked beat was supposed to give the rookies an appreciation of street level policing. Personally, the veteran believed it was a ploy to make retirement look good. "Well, the belts weren't so damn heavy. Didn't have all these toys, just a gun and a nightstick and a walkie-talkie that didn't work." 

"Sounds tough," the rookie said automatically. 

"Tough! Hell no. You had a problem; you dealt with it. And the brass backed you. No cell phone to call for backup. Having to decide between your gun or the taser or the pepper spray. You pulled the gun and the perp knew it was surrender or die. No, it was just you..." 

He stopped, cocking his head to listen and the rookie could hear it. Thunder, low and rumbling through the canyons of the street. 

"Can't be," the veteran muttered. Yet he pulled out his whistle, threading his way through post rush hour traffic to stop the traffic. He ignored the angry honking and perplexed questions from the rookie who followed him into the intersection, simply waited. Not terribly surprised to see two motorcycles pop out into the now empty oncoming lane, passing on either side of him at insane speeds before pulling into the proper lane. Catching only a glimpse of the bright yellow and midnight black bikes and the leather clad riders. 

"Heh," he muttered, trying to decide if the one rider had actually blown him a kiss as they'd passed. "No capes." 

"What the fuck was that?" screamed the rookie, staring at the receding taillights. 

He waited a few seconds, listening for the whine of the turbo that marked the car. Finally waving the traffic through and releasing control to the traffic lights. 

"Blast from the past, kid. And, if you wanna have some fun, hang around the SWAT lockers tonight." 

+++++ 

"That was fun," Dick said, pulling off his helmet. 

Helena grinned, perched beside the fire escape ladder to get a good view of the chaos below. "Oracle and the kid're going to be sorry they missed this. Teach them to take a night off." 

Dick sat on the ledge, legs swinging over the edge. "How's that working out? The partner thing?" 

"Pain in the ass," Helena said absently. "But I'm getting use to it," she added. 

"I remember resenting the hell out of Babs the first few weeks." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. Alternated between being insulted that Bruce thought I couldn't do the job myself and put upon that I had to teach her the ropes." 

"But you got over it." 

"Yeah. After she kicked my ass." 

"That's my Barbara," Helena said. 

"Yeah," Dick said quietly. "Yeah, it is." 

"Her and me going to be a problem with you?" Helena asked, attention firmly on the emergency vehicles below. 

"No," Dick said. "I mean, first, I have no right for it to be a problem and second, it's just not a problem. Her and I ended a long time ago. Sometimes I'm not even sure... anyway, no. If she's happy then that's all that's important." 

"I don't understand you." 

"What?" 

"You cared for her, I know you loved her. Hell, you still do. But after the accident you just went... weird. And it wasn't the chair because you're not that big a shithead." 

"Thanks. I think." 

"Don't mention it." 

"I stayed away because... guilt, I guess," Dick said after several minutes of silence. 

"Guilt?" 

"Yeah," he said, standing and pacing over to the centre of the roof. "That night was a total bust. Big bad guy got away and it was just so freaking frustrating. Months of work and letting the little guys go so we could catch the big ones? All wasted. Bruce went to the base, Barbara went home, I went clubbing. I got to my apartment and the door'd been kicked in and a message on my machine to get to the hospital." 

"Oh." 

"So, I think, every time I see her, that if I'd gone home maybe I'd have stopped them from hurting her. Maybe they'd have been satisfied with killing me." 

"Ego much, Dick?" she asked and he looked up sharply but there was no sarcasm or edge to the words. She was walking along he ledge, hands in her duster pocket. 

"Yeah, guess I do." 

"Does he..." Helena asked after a long pause, staring at city from her corner of the roof. "He ever...?" 

'Nah. But then Bruce was never much for cards and phone calls on your birthday. I'm pretty sure Alfred knows how to contact him. And every now and then, on patrol, there's this... I dunno..." 

"Fissure of awareness?" Helena asked, looking over her shoulder. 

"Yeah. So I figure it's either him or paranoia. Or both, really," he added, smiling slightly. He stretched, leather and spine cracking slightly. "Damn, I feel it when I don't stretch before patrol." 

"Yeah. So." 

"So." 

"Look, Dick... Can I call you Richard?" 

"What?" 

"The only way I can deal with you is to start over from the beginning. Helena Kyle," she said, holding out her hand. 

"Richard Grayson," Dick said, shaking it firmly. "So, what's a beautiful woman like you doing on a rooftop?" 

"Maybe not the beginning beginning," Helena said, laughing despite herself. "What I asked, before. You'll think it over?" 

"You didn't expect an answer tonight, did you?" 

"Only if it was no. I figured you'd want to think it over." 

"Yeah. I've got until Wednesday before I need to be back in Bludhaven. I'll talk to you about it before then." 

Helena shrugged, moving to the edge of the roof. "Whenever," she said with forced casualness. "Just keep it between us, okay." 

"Sure," Dick said, moving to the opposite side and pausing at the top of the fire escape. "Helena? I'm not Bruce. If he or she shows up and asks what you asked of Bruce? I'm not sure I'd say no to them." 

"Don't worry, Richard. No child of Barbara's would ask," she said before stepping over the edge. 

+++++ 

"Who is it?" Helena asked, flicking from channel 299 to 300 to 301 to 302. Attention only half on Barbara as the chair moved along the upper corridor toward the elevator. 

"Dick," Barbara said, easing to a stop just as the door signalled the elevator's arrival. 

"Oh," Helena said. "No!" 

"Hey, Babs," Dick grinned, holding up a box of Dixie Cups and a rolled up magazine. "I assume one of you have a turkey baster." 

"No. No. No," Helena called, vaulting the railing and landing lightly beside the chair. 

"Helena?" Barbara asked, voice steel. Richard took an involuntary step backwards, glancing uneasily between Helena and Barbara. 

"I said," Helena hissed, pointing from herself to Dick a few times to draw a connection. "Between us." 

"I thought you meant," Dick said, pointing from himself to Helena to Barbara and then back to his own chest a few times, "Us." 

"Helena. Can we talk in the training room," Barbara said, not bothering to phrase it as a question. "Now." 

"Fine. You," Helena said to Dick, pointing to the couch, "wait here." 

Sighing Dick watched them enter the training room, a brief flurry of voices and then the door slamming shut behind a very confused looking Dinah and Gabby. 

"You are?" Dinah asked. 

"Dick Grayson. You must be Dinah and Gabby." 

+++++ 

"I don' t know where to start," Barbara said. 

Helena fought the urge to dig her toes into the mat, biting her tongue and taking it as a rhetorical question. 

"What put this idea into your head?" Barbara finally asked. 

"You did. That night I blew up at Alfred." 

"One comment? Six months ago!" 

"Well, more like the six months of you avoiding the subject every time I stared to bring it up." 

"So you decide that means you should... should... proposition Dick?" Barbara asked in bewilderment. "Why Dick? I mean, surely you had some reason for approaching him about this?" 

"Because he knows," Helena said, talking more to the heavy bag than Barbara. "About Huntress and Oracle and what we do. That's necessary," she added, softly. 

"That's your criteria: he knows?" 

"You have a better one?" Helena said defensively, irked by the astonishment in Barbara's voice. 

"I don't have a criteria. We never discussed criteria. We never discussed this at all. You just went off half cocked..." 

"No pun intended," Helena muttered. 

"I assure you," Barbara said, voice tight, "no pun intended." 

"I didn't." 

"Didn't what?" 

"Go off half cocked. I thought this through. Pitfalls and strategies." 

"Why don't I believe that?" 

"Because you know I hate planning and so you think I'm bad at it. But when it's important -when it's seducing you or planning on how to have a kid- I plan," Helena said, kneeling at Barbara's feet. "I was taught that when you wanted something so bad it made your blood boil; you had to look at it in cold blood. Had to be dispassionate about it or you'd screw up. Which, apparently, I managed to do anyway." 

"Fine," Barbara said in her 'not-fine-at-all' tone. "Accepting that theory why not include me in this planning?" 

"Well, I figured that if you were involved in the planning, at this early stage, it'd never get to the next stage." 

"I don't think that's accurate." 

"It took you eight months to decide between a Hummer and a Range Rover. Eight months!" 

"I don't think this is the same. Do you think you can just go out, kick the tires?" 

"Well, I figure you already gave him a test drive." 

+++++ 

"The Hummer has, I dunno. Street cred. Range Rovers are all tea and crump... Dinah?" 

Dinah had stood abruptly, face pale and taken a step toward the training room door. "They're fighting." 

"How...? I thought you were a touch telepath?" Dick asked. 

"Not where they're concerned," Gabby said. "Hey," she said, tugging on Dinah's hand. "Come back to us here." 

+++++ 

"Okay," Helena said after a few seconds of stony silence. "That came out very wrong." 

"Did it?" 

"Yeah. That was a Law and Order, just before the credits, thing to say," Helena said, moving to the side of the chair but not touching it or Barbara. Not daring when Barbara was so intently staring at the equipment rack. "There was more to the criteria. Beyond a guy and beyond knowing about the Life." 

"I can't wait to hear the checklist." 

"It had to be someone who you loved and trusted," Helena continued, ignoring the sarcasm and hurt in Barbara's voice. "I don't... I never liked Dick. He was your boyfriend and I never liked any of your boyfriends, but Dick particularly." 

"Why?" 

"He had my father and he had my girl. When you're sixteen that makes him very easy to hate. And once I got in the habit it was easy to continue," Helena said, smiling slightly at Barbara's expression. She smiled, moving backwards to lean up against the pommel horse. "My, uh, therapy for my therapy has been helpful." 

"Therapy?" 

"Alfred and a lot of milk and cookies conversations. Anyway, much as it grated he was the best choice. In case something happened." 

"I don't understand," Barbara said, voice tight as if she were struggling hard to maintain control. 

"Yeah, I think you do," Helena said gently. "This isn't a nine to five job, Barbara. Short of quitting this is the best I can do." 

"Do?" 

"It's not like it was for your dad," Helena continued, ignoring the interruption and question. "Cop gets killed, fireman gets killed, and there's a family there. People in shit jobs like that, leave the house and never come back, they have each other. Well, there's no blue line for superheroes, no brotherhood of vigilantes. Something happens to me and no one knows. It'd be a mugging or some other stupid, senseless lie like," she stopped abruptly. "Like that." 

"Hel..." finally turning the chair to face Helena. 

"If something happens to me, Dick will look after you and the kid. If something happens to both of us, he can protect the kid," Helena said. "I can't and you can't do what Carolyn did to Dinah. I won't do what my dad and mom did to me; live some lie and hide the most important thing I, that we, are from them. So if we have this kid, if we do this, it has to be with someone who gets it, who gets the job, who can step in if things go to hell." 

+++++ 

"Presents," Dick said abruptly, distracting himself from the barely audible murmur of voices. The sound proofing for the training room was such that it muffled but did not silence. He pulled a yellow and green book from his backpack. "Sort of. This is for you," he said, handing the book to Gabby. 

"The Robin Handbook," Gabby read, flipping through the book. Finding every page blank. She grinned. "You're not as..." 

"Tall?" Dick suggested. 

"A dull stick as I'd been lead to believe," Gabby finished. 

"I found this," he continued, turning to Dinah, "during an investigation of some martial arts schools. Carolyn was camera shy but uh, anyway, found this," he said. 

Dinah looked at the eight by ten photo, a young Carolyn surrounded by a group of youngsters proudly holding up trophies and medals, tentatively touching the image of a toddler held in Carolyn's arms. 

"That's me," she whispered. "I don't remember this." 

"Sure you do. Somewhere. We'll find it," Gabby said, taking her hand and pulling her close so that she could look over Dinah's shoulder at the photograph. 

"They're better now," Dinah said, leaning back. 

"It's late," Gabby said, glancing at the gears above them. 

"But not too late," Dinah agreed. 

"Dick, can I call you Dick?" Gabby asked. 

"Sure," Dick said. 

"Tell them we had to take off to..." 

"...study," Dinah said firmly. 

"Yeah, study. And we'll talk to them tomorrow." 

+++++ 

"It's like the Honda." 

"What?" Helena asked. Balanced easily on the pommel horse and staring at the back of Barbara's chair. Watching as she fidgeted with the wheels turning the chair in a slow circle. 

"You spent five years, rationalized away your principles about taking Wayne money, planned and plotted and never once asked me if I wanted the damn thing." 

"Yeah." 

"You weren't even sure that I wouldn't react badly. See it as yet another reminder about how I can't live a normal life." 

"Yeah. Well, except for the part where you ever had a normal life." 

Barbara's head ducked a bit and Helena could hear the soft snort of amusement. 

"Is this about me feeling normal?" 

Helena paused, focusing on the suspended rings. "No," she said finally. "It's not." 

The chair turned slowly. "It's not about me?" she asked slowly. She shook her head, mouth quirking into a half smile, half grimace, before repeating as a statement. "It's not about me. Jeez, Gordon, ego much?" 

"Well, it usually is," Helena said, "about you. With me," she continued, shaking her head. "I sound like a moron right now. But it's not just you. Or just me. It's us. And Dinah and Gabby and Alfred and your Dad. And my dad and even my mom and your mom." 

"And Guy?" Barbara asked quietly. 

+++++ 

The sound was somewhere between a shot and a homerun. Somehow he managed to stop from shouldering through the training room door, reason overpowering instinct before he actually impacted against the door. Sighing he returned to the couch and unrolled his magazine. 

+++++ 

"How much is that going to set me back?" Helena asked, looking at the pommel horse handle in her hand. 

"About two thousand. You okay?" 

"God. World's most expensive sex toy." 

"Helena." 

"Two grand? You think maybe some duct tape and crazy glue would do the trick?" 

"Helena..." 

"You do grasp the irony of *you* trying to get *me* to open up on an emotional topic, right?" 

"I do." 

Helena spun the handle around in her hand a few times. "Maybe. I tend not to think about him too much, you know? But maybe he's a factor, too. A reason. What are we going to do about this?" 

"Adjust the training routine until I can either get it repaired or replaced. Any extra-curricular activities..." 

"Barbara. Not the pommel horse." 

Smiling Barbara held out her hand, waiting as Helena took the few steps to her and handed her the broken handle. "I know. You've thought about it. I've thought about it. Let's kick Dick out and talk about it. Okay?" 

+++++ 

Dick set the magazine down when he heard the training room door open, standing as they approached. There was still some tension, still some emotion in the air but none directed at him. 

"So," he said. 

"So," Helena agreed, glancing around the room. 

"They had to study something," Dick said, sitting as Barbara came to a stop by the easy chair opposite his couch. Frowning briefly Helena sat on the ottoman to complete the rough triangle. "Maybe school work. Left a few minutes after they decided you two weren't going to kill each other. How long have her powers been increasing?" 

"Hard to say. There's been a gradual increase but the occasional spurt. Extreme stress or emotion usually triggers it." 

"Guess there was a bit of that floating around here tonight," turning the box of Dixie cups over and over in his hands. Helena smiled, hiding the expression from Barbara by staring at the rafters. 

"A bit," allowed Barbara. "It all took me from left field. And I don't know what to say to you about what Helena's proposing." 

"What did I say to you after the Branislav case?" Dick asked. 

"Damnit, Barbara, if I want your help I'll ask for it." 

"That's not it," Dick said with a frown. "Someone trying to steal uranium from the old reactor." 

"But not Branislav? Well, Falcone? Albrecht? Nguyen?" 

"He was going to use a zeppelin but crashed 'cause he calculated for the lead containers but not himself and the crew." 

"Creighton." 

"Yeah, that's it. What did I say?" 

"What's mine is yours, even bone marrow." 

"Bone marrow?" Helena asked. 

"There was a slight chance the containers might have..." 

"Smashed," Dick inserted. 

"...cracked and that there might, therefore, be a slight chance..." 

"Also known as certainty." Dick said. 

"...of long term effects..." Barbara continued only to be interrupted again. 

"Glowing in the dark, setting off Geiger counters." 

"...such as leukemia. But they were intact." 

"But before we knew for sure I told her if she retrieved the uranium, I'd donate the marrow." 

"So sweet. Such love," Helena said in a puzzled voice. 

Dick shook his head, staring at Barbara. "No. She was better than me. She knew it and I knew it but... anyway. Anything, Babs. Anytime. Anywhere. Remember what I told you after the Branislav case?" 

Barbara nodded. "Damnit, Barbara, if I want your help I'll ask for it." 

"But I did need it and I didn't ask. I was too stubborn and would have died. So thanks." 

"Fifteen years late, circus boy." 

"Better late than never, book mouse," he said, handing the box of Dixie cups to Barbara. "Whenever, if ever. Helena, for you," he added, handing her the magazine. 

"Today's Parent?" she asked, unrolling it. 

"Great article on page eighty nine about bed wetting." 

"You're such a..." 

"Joy to have around?" Dick suggested. 

"Maybe, Richard. But don't push it." 

END


End file.
